


stray

by museaway



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas in the Bunker, Established Relationship, Holiday Mixtape, Lost dog, M/M, vague canon universe setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2017-12-29
Packaged: 2019-02-23 09:41:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13187421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway/pseuds/museaway
Summary: In Sam’s defense, he really had intended to buy holiday sweaters.





	stray

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @witchofstorms on Twitter for [the prompt](https://twitter.com/witchofstorms/status/931193028571643905), Jad for the last-minute beta (I love you), and to my schnauzer Leia, who served as a model for the dog in this story and was also an accomplished footwear thief when she was a puppy. She was compensated with many pats. 
> 
> Takes place at an ambiguous point in the canon universe somewhere around the end of season 11, I guess? 
> 
> Written for Holiday Mixtape 2017. The banner was an exercise in speed painting.

* * *

In Sam’s defense, he really had intended to buy holiday sweaters.

Yes, the trip had afforded an opportunity to have the car and some time to himself, and yes, he'd savored those couple quiet hours on the road, but his motivation had been honest. How often had they had a normal Christmas growing up? They were going to drink eggnog (spiked, already purchased and in the fridge) and exchange gifts (Dean: six pack of El Sol and a gas card; Cas: bluetooth headphones and a new tie) and wear embarrassing sweaters (which Dean would claim to hate but secretly like, and Cas would probably wear past the holidays). For one day, they would be a normal family.

Or at least that had been the plan when Sam set out that morning on the hour-long drive to the nearest Walmart. He’d even treated himself to McDonald’s hash browns on his way into town, because once in a while was okay and what Dean didn’t know couldn’t hurt him (in this case, anyway). Whistling holiday tunes, he’d found a parking space in one of the last rows and got out of the car. His eyes were fixed on the yellow asterisk, his weight already rocking forward from his heel to the ball of his foot, ready to launch him into holiday hell, when he heard the whining.

It was interspersed with tiny yelps, a battery of them coming from somewhere nearby. They were masked by the sound of idling engines and passing cars on the adjacent highway, but he knew what he'd heard. Few things tug at the heart like the cries of a frightened dog, and where Sam’s heart was concerned, they rent it to pieces. 

He focused on the sound and walked in that direction. It seemed loudest near the back of a blue Toyota SUV with a crooked Jayhawks bumper sticker. He ducked down to look underneath the car.

It took a moment before he saw the dog. It was dark like the asphalt, hiding behind the left rear tire. Not much bigger than his hand. But it looked at him when he spoke and whined louder. Probably someone’s pet that had gotten out. If it had a collar, he could check the registration and track down the owner. With any luck, it was someone in town.

He stuck out of hand for the dog to sniff. It yelped three times, excitedly tossing its head, and took a step toward him.

“C’mere,” he said. “You're okay. What are you doing under here all by yourself? That's a good dog.”

It was too energetic to have rabies but fleas were a possibility. He probably ought to get a pair of gloves out of the trunk before handling it, but he worried if he stood up right now, the dog might get scared and bolt into traffic. Oh well. He'd been covered in worse, and the Impala's interior had resembled a Jackson Pollock canvas plenty of times. A couple of hitchhiking fleas wouldn’t ruin anything.

He coaxed the dog out from under the car with a piece of beef jerky he dug out of his left jacket pocket. To his chagrin, the dog wasn’t wearing a collar, and it was skinny—a stray most likely. It had dark eyes, black fur with flecks of white around its ears, and one white foot. Some kind of terrier. It would probably be a good-looking dog if it were cleaned up. It gobbled down the jerky and didn’t growl when he tried to pet it.

Maybe there was a shelter nearby, though would one be staffed the day before a holiday? He probably ought to take the dog back to Lebanon. The bunker wasn’t an ideal place to keep a pet, but he couldn’t bear to leave it in that parking lot. He’d get it thoroughly checked out once the holidays were over and find it a good home.

“Hey,” he said and scratched under its chin. The dog licked his fingers. “When’s the last time you ate?”

* * *

He found a crusty t-shirt of Dean’s in the trunk and laid it in the passenger footwell for the dog to lie on. Naturally, the dog jumped onto the bench seat instead and left paw prints on the leather as it looked out the window, wagging a stub tail.

“Yeah, I don’t really blame you,” Sam said and pushed the hair back from his face. “Listen, I need you to behave for a couple minutes. I’m gonna run inside and get you a few things. Don’t...don’t chew anything. My brother’ll kill us.”

He ran inside Walmart for puppy chow—enough to last a couple weeks—and a few necessities: a red plaid collar, matching leash, brush, bowl, shampoo, a bed, treats, and a nylon bone for chewing. The new owner would be able to use them. He felt bad about leaving the dog alone in the car, but at least it wasn’t summertime and he didn’t have to worry about coming back to find the windows smashed open.

The dog—it felt awkward not giving it a name, but it’s not like he could keep it—had panted so much, the window around its muzzle had turned to fog. It whined when he got back into the car and began sniffing the bags.

“Guess I should give you some of this now,” Sam said and tore open the corner of the dog food. He dispensed a good handful into the bowl he’d bought and let the dog eat while he adjusted the collar. He got it on without a hitch.

The dog settled as he drove, lying with its paws pointing toward his leg and panting happily. It was a shame it couldn’t stick around long enough for him to see how big it’d get, but a dog didn’t exactly fit a hunter’s lifestyle, and they couldn't take it on the road with them the next time they found a case. Too bad. Having one around would probably calm Dean down. 

* * *

Sam carried the dog into the bunker under his arm like you would a case of beer. He’d hoped to smuggle it into the bunker, but the dog wiggled and began to whine as they went down the stairs.

“Hey, I’m gonna grab a shower and then we can eat!” Sam said loudly, hoping Dean was so engrossed in whatever rag he was reading that he wouldn’t look up as Sam went past.

Dean looked up him accusingly from the war table where he slouched in a blue robe, beer in hand. Castiel sat across from him in his usual suit and tie. A full beer sat in front of him, but there was no condensation on the glass. It must have been sitting there for a while.

“Where the hell have you been?” Dean said. “And the bigger question, what the hell is _that_?”

“That's a dog, Dean,” said Castiel.

Dean shut his eyes and took a breath. “Thank you. _Why_ is it a dog?”

“I found it in a parking lot,” Sam said. “I know what you're going to say, but I didn't know where else to take it, and I was afraid if I left it where it was, it would get hit.”

“So you brought it here.”

“It’s just for a couple days. Once the holidays are over, I’ll find it a home.”

The look Dean cast him made Sam feel ten years old. “What’s in the bags?” Dean said.

“Dog food and a few supplies.”

Dean scrunched up his face and let out a breath. “It better not get near my room.”

“It can stay with me,” Sam said quickly. “I’m gonna get it cleaned up. Did you decide on dinner?”

“Cas wants burgers,” Dean said.

“Cas _always_ wants burgers.”

“The heart wants what the heart wants, Sammy.”

“You don’t have to cook them on my account,” Castiel said.

“I’ve already got ‘em prepped,” Dean muttered and hid his face behind a magazine. “Soon as Sam’s done playing dog groomer, I’ll start cooking.”

* * *

The dog (a female, Sam confirmed during bath time, which had gotten his own clothes as wet as the dog’s fur) scarfed down a second bowl of food and scampered up and down the hallway while they ate. Every time she barked, Dean took a deep breath and full bite. When she had an accident on the kitchen floor, Sam hopped up immediately to clean up after her. Dean said nothing but upended his beer. When she came down the kitchen steps with one of Dean’s shoes, which was nearly as big as she was, Castiel stifled a laugh. Dean set down his burger and locked his hands together.

“That fucking dog is gonna destroy the place.”

Sam wrestled the shoe from her mouth and patted her head. “It’s Christmas Eve, Dean. Can you maybe not swear?”

“Your _fudging_ dog is gonna destroy the _fudging_ place.”

Castiel squinted at him. “Isn't the use of a euphemism essentially the same as swearing?”

“How?” Dean said.

“Your intent is the same.”

“Shut up.”

Sam looked at the dog and shook his head. “The bunker’s practically indestructible,” he said, scratching behind her ears. Her fur, soft like cotton, had curled now that it was dry and stood up in all directions. She tilted her head to one side as he spoke. “It survived your _Shining_ reenactment.”

Dean shoved back from the table. “You’re both pissing me off. Gimme that shoe. The two of you can wash up.” He paused near the doorway, turning his head slightly over his shoulder, enough that Sam could see his face was flushed. “Are you staying?”

“Of course,” Castiel said.

Dean nodded stiffly and left. Sam glanced to Castiel.

“Coffee?”

The atmosphere was never as tense without Dean around. They streamed holiday music through Sam’s phone and washed the dishes in friendly silence. Once the kitchen was clean, they took their coffee at the table. Before long, the dog had fallen asleep next to Sam’s chair. Castiel bent down to pet her.

“I like dogs,” he said. “What are you going to call her?”

“I didn’t want to name her. If you name something, you get attached.”

Castiel hummed a little. “I can understand that.”

Sam pushed his empty mug aside and stretched his legs. “I’m going to take her outside before bed. I'm on breakfast duty tomorrow. Any requests?”

“Unfortunately, the flavor of human food diminished with the return of my grace.”

Sam frowned. “Earlier, Dean said you asked for burgers.”

“Dean derives a great deal of pleasure from cooking. Even if I can't taste them, I appreciate that he makes them for me.” Castiel met Sam’s eyes. “Please don't tell him.”

“Yeah, no, I won't,” Sam promised. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yes. Sleep well.”

“You too. Or—you know what I mean.”

Castiel smiled. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

* * *

The dog woke up three times during the night and Sam discovered a patch of woods just outside the bunker that made for good stargazing. It was lucky he’d always been good on functioning on little sleep, because he woke naturally around six and listened for her rapid breathing. From the sound and weight on his feet, she seemed to be curled up at the foot of the bed. He lay quietly for a few minutes before getting up to use the bathroom, careful not to disturb her. She stretched out her legs as he went past but didn’t stir.

Dean was already in the bathroom, coming out of the shower with a towel around his waist and humming. “Morning,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Sam said, glad Dean seemed to be in better spirits. “Since you’re up, should I start breakfast?”

“Uh,” Dean said, already halfway out of the room, “Give me ‘bout forty minutes.”

“Sure thing,” Sam said. “I’ll take the dog for a walk.”

He started the coffee before going back to his room, but the dog was no longer on the bed where he’d left her. _Note to self_ , Sam thought, rebuking himself for being careless, _shut the door next time_.

“Hey,” he whispered down the hallway and shook the leash as enticement. “Hey, dog. Where did you go?”

If she made a mess somewhere in the bunker and Dean was the one who discovered it, he would be impossible to live with for days. Sam checked the bathroom and the kitchen and the war room, and even climbed the stairs to look down upon it from the landing. Nothing. She couldn't have gotten outside on her own, so she had to be in here somewhere. If she stuck around longer than a week, he’d have to get one of those collars that made noise, because he wasn't going to do this every time she went exploring.

He gave up the search after ten minutes, hoping she’d gotten hungry or tired and gone back to sleep. He was relieved to catch her coming out of Dean’s bedroom.

“There you are! I told you not to go in Dean's room. He must’ve left it open.” She looked up at him and froze in place, poised to sprint. Although it was dark, he could make out something in her mouth and slowly knelt down beside her. “What are you eating? Let me see. No, let me see.”

Caught in her teeth was the soggy remains of something long and blue and familiar. And behind him, from the cavernous dark of Dean’s room, came the telltale squeak of an obliging mattress.

Sam hid an embarrassed cough in his fist and gallantly closed the door to Dean’s room. 

“We're going outside,” he said to the dog and scooped her up with an arm. He forwent his coat and threw away the ruined tie on the way out. At least his gift to Castiel wouldn’t got to waste.

Thank god the eggnog was spiked.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading and a belated Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate! I hope Sam figures out a way to keep the dog. This will be my last SPN fic for a while, but I'll be moderating the DCBB and Tropefest with Jojo next year. If you're on Twitter, [please say hello](https://twitter.com/museawayfic)! ♥


End file.
